


the first star that i find

by aceofouterspace



Category: Lifeline (Video Game 2015)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, POV First Person, nonbinary narrator, original character as narrator - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:32:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5800909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofouterspace/pseuds/aceofouterspace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the moment that first message came through, my life started down a wild, inconceivable path that brought me here, to this hotel room that probably cost more than my car, awaiting the moment I step outside and face the unknown.</p><p>(AU where Taylor is taken back to Earth by a rescue crew that was dispatched after the Varia crashed, and the events that take place during and after the crash have become world famous; the events of Silent Night do not occur)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. lost souls and reverie

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for choosing to read my fic!
> 
> This story is told from the player’s point of view and is set around the idea that they get to meet/befriend Taylor after the rescue. This is also an AU, as described in the summary. For this first chapter, I’ve left both Taylor’s and the narrator’s gender undetermined, in order to allow for any personal headcanons to remain relevant. However, this may not be possible in later chapters, so for future reference, my personal headcanon is that Taylor is male. If/when I have to refer to Taylor with some sort of title (Mr./Ms.) or pronoun, it will be male. I may keep the narrator undetermined, or officially declare them to be nonbinary.
> 
> *Disclaimer: by reading this story, you agree to suspend disbelief and accept beforehand that I know absolutely nothing about robotics, long-range communication technology, or what it takes to get into NASA, and my countless internet searches on the matter proved to be fruitless in terms of usable information; therefore, any wildly inaccurate scientific info contained within this work is not to be taken too seriously nor criticized harshly.
> 
> Taylor’s messages are in italics, the narrator’s messages are in bold italics. The fic title is from "Satellite" by Guster, and the chapter title is from "Renegades" by X-Ambassadors.
> 
> Enjoy!!

I stare in the mirror, the absurdity of my current situation crashing down on me with full force. The bags under my eyes are concealed by meticulously applied make-up (courtesy of a _professional make-up artist_ , no less, because apparently people who get featured on major news broadcasts are held to the same appearance standards as movie stars), but only barely so.

I didn’t sleep a wink last night. The balcony of my all-expense-paid hotel room provided a wonderful view of the clear night sky, and I hadn’t been able to stop staring up at the stars, reveling in the irony of it. After all, isn’t that was technically started this whole ordeal? 10-year-old me, staring up at the stars in awe, decided right then and there that _one day, I’m going to go to space,_ never wavering from that conviction all through high school and then college, right up until the moment my application to NASA was rejected due to a “lack of substantial experience,” and I was forced to put my dreams on hold until some unknown future date as I crammed as many resume-building experiences as I could possibly fit into my (admittedly dismal) social calendar.

One of which, of course, was competing in robot wars. Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want. But robotics is a serious field. You have to be an absolute _genius_ to build the kind of robots that win those things. I knew I was smart enough, but the problem was, I had nothing to show for it. I figured a few championship titles would be sufficient “experience” to get the head honchos at NASA to give my application more than a cursory glance.

For the next several months, I spent at least five hours every night working on various robot prototypes in the shed in my parents’ backyard. At the time of first contact, my latest project was only partially completed, and in all honesty, I hadn’t known it was transmitting or receiving any kind of signals. It wasn’t  _supposed_ to be doing that. I guess that’s what I get for buying discount mechanical parts from shady online dealers.

In the end, however, I’ll never regret it. Because from the moment that first message came through, my life started down a wild, inconceivable path that brought me here, to this hotel room that probably cost more than my car, awaiting the moment I step outside and face the unknown. And despite all the absurdity and uncertainty and thick, high-grade make-up coating my face, I can’t stop beaming.

* * *

_~Hello?_

_~Is this thing working?_

_~Can anyone read me?_

_**~I read you.** _

_~Oh, thank God!_

* * *

It shouldn’t have been possible. However, neither I nor the person I was conversing with through the screen of the half-completed robot (which I’d later dubbed _Lucky_ ) cared at the time. I still don’t, honestly. I probably should, considering my natural curiosity towards everything scientific, but I simply can’t bring myself to look too closely at the situation. You know what they say about gift horses, after all.

Taylor, the one who sent the first signal, was beyond thrilled to get a response, to say the least. I guess being stranded on a distant, unexplored moon _in the middle of outer space_ does that to you. We didn’t waste much time on chit chat or getting to know each other, as our primary concern was getting Taylor the hell out of there and back to Earth safely, but by the end of it (and I’ll never forget that moment, Taylor rapidly sending message after message, excitedly describing the rescue ship descending onto the moon’s surface–I’d let out a breath that I’d been holding for _days_ ), I had moved far beyond mere concern for Taylor’s life and had careened over the edge of Irrevocably Emotionally Invested.

At that point, Taylor’s messages seemed to suggest that the rescue meant goodbye. And it’s not that I wasn’t happy Taylor had been saved, but I found myself thinking, did it really have to be goodbye? Could we not, well, meet in person?

No. No, of course not. I would only serve as a reminder of traumatic times. Why would Taylor want that? Any sane person would want to put the whole thing behind them, and Taylor seemed pretty sane to me, despite the complete _in_ sanity of the last few days. I should just let it go. Don’t send any more messages. They probably wouldn’t reach the rescue ship anyway, considering it’s, y’know, _moving_ and whatnot.

Still, there’s no way it could all just… end that quickly. It’s not like I’m expected to just go back to the way things were after this, putting it all out of my mind as if it were simply a weird, immensely stressful dream. Right?

For five of the loneliest minutes of my life, I received no new messages, and I debated with myself back and forth. I sat in front of my scrappy robot-turned-communicator-device, letting the indescribable wave of varied emotions wash over me. I laughed once, then choked back a sob, then leaped out of my chair and began pacing on shaky legs, then slumped to the floor, too tired to even think of moving another inch.

That is, until the soft _ping_ of the message alert caused me to push myself upright and scramble over to my chair at a speed that may have broken the sound barrier.

_~So, I’ll be on this ship for a couple of days…  
_

_~You’ve probably already shut down whatever device you were using to talk to me._

_~But, well, if you’re still there… it’d be nice to chat with you for a while._

_~You know, without the threat of starving or freezing to death hanging over my head._

I laughed–or sobbed, or maybe just coughed, I’m not really sure–and typed out a reply with trembling hands.

_**~So I take it that ship you’re on is pretty cushy then, huh? It’s got food AND heat.** _

_~Oh yeah! Real top notch here._

_~…Thank you for responding. Truly._

_~I didn’t mean to sound so dismissive when the ship came, I was just really excited._

_**~Hey, it’s alright, I understand. I’m not going anywhere, though. Unless you want me to.** _

_~Well…_

The message appeared barely three seconds after mine, and I stared at it in disbelief. _“Well”??!_ What the hell did that mean?! I was about to type out an angry response when another _ping_ stopped me in my tracks.

_~I’ve been talking to the rescue crew and they said there’s gonna be this huge, I dunno, “welcome back” event or whatever, after we get back to Earth._

_~It’ll be in Washington, D.C. The President’s gonna be there and everything. And my family, and classmates…_

_~And anyone else I want to invite, they said._

_~And. Well._

_~I would like you to go. There. To the event._

_~It’d be really, really great. You don’t have to, obviously, and I’m not trying to guilt you or anything, but…_

_~It’d be nice to see your face._

Oh, man. If Taylor could only see my face in _that_ moment. Willing away the blush that burned its way up my neck, I shot off a message of my own before Taylor could send another rambling one.

_**~Washington D.C.? Well, I guess I could make the drive from California…** _

_~Whoa, wait, you don’t have to do that!_

_~They said they’d provide plane tickets and hotel rooms for whoever I invited. Free of charge. Don’t drive across the country, that’s…_

_**~CHILL, Taylor, I’m kidding.** _

_~…crazy!!!_

_~Oh._

_~Really??_

_**~Yes, really.** _

_**~I live in Germany.** _

_~WAIT WHAT_

_**~Oh, wow, you’re too easy…** _

_~Oh. My God._

* * *

I eventually told Taylor that I actually live in Virginia, and the drive to Washington D.C. was one I was more than willing to make. I didn’t mention that I had an extreme fear of flying which prompted me to reject the ten or so offers of free plane tickets that Taylor threw at me. I figured, given the situation, it might seem a little… whiny.

Thus, here I am, grinning wildly into the mirror in a hotel in the capital of the United States, about to meet the one and only Taylor Young.

Well. “Meet” is a strange way to think about it, considering we’ve been in contact since the rescue. Not to mention that the name “Taylor Young” is currently displayed on every newspaper, station, and billboard across the country, possibly even the world. It seems like no one can get enough of the miraculous story of a promising college student rescued from a tragic crash in space (and, being the “rescuer,” I’ve gotten my fair share of harassment from the paparazzi and various media outlets). So I like to think I know Taylor fairly well at this point. However, our communication has been mostly limited to text messaging, and there’s only so much you can learn about a person that way. After today, I’m sure things will change.

Because this is not the end of the story. Not yet. And, if I have anything to say about it, not for a long, long time.


	2. as long as you're near to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This was tough to write, but I finally got it finished.
> 
> IMPORTANT: I altered the ending of the first chapter because I ended up going in a slightly different direction than I thought I would with this one. I just changed the last couple of paragraphs, so if you wanna go back and skim over that before reading this, that'd be awesome :D you don't have to, of course, but this chapter will seem a bit incongruous if you don't.
> 
> Chapter title is from "Goodbye, Apathy" by OneRepublic. Listen to it near the end of the chapter for maximum feels.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

 

_~Are you here yet?_

The message comes through on my phone just as I’m about to step outside of the hotel room. I laugh; I knew Taylor would be the first to crack.

**_~Now, now, what did we agree about texting today?_ **

_~We said we wouldn’t text during the event. It hasn’t started yet, technically._

**_~So there’s absolutely_ nothing _you should be doing right now? Not practicing your speech or anything?_**

_~…Smartass :P_

**_~ Nerd ;)_ **

I probably should have seen this coming from the moment Taylor asked for my contact information so that he could have someone send me the information for the event, but I didn’t think he’d save my phone number for himself (that’s not to say I didn’t _hope_ for it, but that’s another discussion for another time). However, as soon as he was released from the hospital for mandatory health evaluations following the rescue, he went to the Wal-Mart down the street, bought a new phone, and put my number in it.

I know this because he sent me a selfie from the store. He also sent pictures of the disgruntled faces of the officers who are serving as his “security detail” until the media frenzy dies down. Apparently he snuck away from them to buy the phone, and they were not pleased.

This, of course, was just the beginning of the near-continuous string of communication between us, ranging from elaborate “good morning” texts to selfie wars to trading bad puns at 2 am. Secretly, I was relieved to have a quick and reliable way to contact Taylor. Gone were the days of constantly worrying, waiting hours for a response, praying nothing bad would happen, and struggling with the idea that if something bad did happen, I would be completely powerless to help him. I like to think that the constant contact has been helping Taylor cope with his situation as well, but we tend to avoid talking about the elephant in the room, keeping our texts lighthearted and non-intrusive.

I like our arrangement, but I know the big things can’t be avoided forever.

When I leave the room, a stocky plainclothes officer is waiting in the hallway, tapping his foot. He doesn’t say anything to me, simply leading me towards a stairwell at the far end of the hallway, away from the elevators that lead to the main lobby.

Although most of the local reporters and paparazzi are more concerned with photographing the event tonight than following the guests around their hotels, there are still a few stragglers outside when we exit. They’re looking towards the main doors, so we silently walk in a wide arch around the perimeter of the parking lot to an inconspicuous black sedan parked off to the side.

The drive is quiet. I attempt to start a conversation with the officer by mentioning my excitement about hearing the President speak, but he gives little more than a nod in acknowledgement. He seems more concerned with dodging traffic than talking, so I lean against the window and spend the drive staring up at the darkening sky.

It takes much longer than it should to find parking, and getting into the building where the event is taking place is a stressful experience that I could have lived without. I vow to punch the next person who tries to shove a microphone or camera in my face. At least all that _professionally-applied make-up_ hasn’t gone to waste. If my scowl makes it on television tonight, it’ll look flawless. (And yes, I’m still hung up on the fact that the event organizers sent a make-up artist to my room this morning. Talk about a weird wake-up call.)

The people inside the building don’t make me feel much more at ease, but at least they’re civilized. Many of them smile at me and say “welcome,” in a tone that implies that they don’t know who I am but figure I must be important because, hey, I’m here, aren’t I? I guess the few news reports and articles that featured my picture weren’t as widely circulated as I thought. Not that I mind. Fame is the last thing I want out of this entire situation.

In fact, the only thing I really want is to meet Taylor. I realize I could have done that without agreeing to attend this event, but I want to be here for support. Also, this is the easiest arrangement for Taylor, considering his attendance is much more celebrated and much less _optional_ than mine.

After several scans of the room (most of which are conducted from beside the generously sized banquet laid out on a table near the stage, because I’m not one to pass up on free food), I concede that he’s not out here amongst the other attendees. They probably have him stashed away somewhere to keep the few reporters who managed to get onto the guest list at bay, at least until after he gives his brief yet required “guest of honor” speech.

Although I’ve been good about not checking my phone obsessively for most of the day, I catch myself glancing at it every minute or so as I wait for the actual ceremony to begin. Taylor hasn’t texted again, which is good because he really does need to focus on getting all of this speech business out of the way. I know he’s anxious about it, despite my various efforts throughout the past week to calm his nerves (at one point I almost sent him a text saying, “Just imagine the crowd in their underwear,” but then I remembered _I_ would be in the crowd. I’d quickly erased both the message and the mental image I’d created for myself).

However, once I run out of things to distract myself with (you can only stand in a corner by yourself and make fun of snooty upper class people for so long before it becomes kinda pathetic), I’m unable to refrain from breaking my own rule and sending him a short, supportive message.

**_~Good luck!_ **

_~Thanks :)_

_~Wait a second…_

**_~I know, I know, I broke my own rule._ **

_~Well at least now I have an excuse not to practice my speech_

**_~Darn it! Now I’m an accessory to slackery :(_ **

_~I’ll make it up to you. Drinks are on me tonight._

_~(And I’m pretty sure slackery isn’t a word)_

**_~I’ll take a raincheck on that. There’s already so much champagne here. Just floating around for anyone to take_ **

**_~Excuse u slackery is TOTALLY a word_ **

_~And how drunk are you, exactly?_

I'm in the middle of typing a response when a burst of feedback from the microphone set up on stage makes me cringe and look up from my phone. The man now standing at the podium begins his welcome speech, gives a brief thanks to a few sponsors, and wishes us a great rest of the evening.

And then, suddenly, the man is telling us to welcome the President of the United States, and then, wow, there he is, the President of the United States, on stage. Wow.

I look back at my phone, intending to finish my text, but I accidentally hit “send” instead.

**_~Drunk enough to_ **

**_~Oops sry sent that too early_ **

**_~Got distracted by the PRESIDENT_ **

_~Wait, drunk enough to what??_

I leave his last text unanswered because I’m kind of an asshole. But also because the President is giving the introduction to his speech about thirty feet away from me right now. This is too surreal.

Surreal enough, apparently, that I kind of lose focus as the President goes on to talk about the importance of space exploration. It’s not that I’m bored—far, far from it, trust me—but I just can’t _concentrate_. It’s like when you finally get tickets to see your favorite band live, but when you actually get there, you’re so overwhelmed by the presence of your musical heroes that you forget the words to their most popular song. I don’t know how else to cope other than to simply let my mind drift.

At least, until the words “ _Varia_ ” and “tragedy” pull me back to reality. The President is now looking around the room somberly, eyes bleak and distant.

“The lives that were lost in the crash will never be forgotten. Their names, their faces—we, as a nation, will make sure they live on in our minds and our hearts.”

There must be a projector mounted into the ceiling somewhere, because suddenly the pictures and names of everyone who was aboard the _Varia_ , besides Taylor, are being projected onto the wall behind the stage.

The President calls for a moment of silence as the pictures flicker on the wall. The room goes eerily quiet.

When the moment ends, the pictures disappear, and the President wraps up his speech. A jolt of anticipation shoots through me as he begins to introduce the next speaker, using phrases like “brilliant young man” and “an inspiration to us all.”

In other words, Taylor. Taylor’s the next speaker. For some reason, I thought I’d have longer to prepare for this.

A figure moves onto the stage from the left, and the room fills with applause. I can only watch numbly as Taylor shakes hands with the President, grinning wide for the flashing cameras in the crowd.

If I was awestruck before, it’s nothing compared to this moment.

My mind threatens to go AWOL again, but I force myself to snap out of it, focusing on moving my hands to clap along with everyone else. Taylor steps up to the podium, gripping the sides of it, and takes a deep breath. I see his eyes flicker around the room repeatedly, but he never looks towards the middle of the crowd where I’m standing. I want to jump and wave, but I also want to run and hide; neither one happens, though, because as soon as Taylor speaks, I’m rooted in place.

“Thank you, thank you,” he begins, bouncing between addressing the crowd and staring down at his hands, looking for all the world like a bashful student about to give a presentation to a class. “Gosh, the amount of times I’ve said that phrase over the past few weeks is incredible. I’m so thankful, to everyone, for everything. The support, the donations, the words of encouragement. I can’t begin to describe… well, I’m still a little shell shocked, I guess.” He chuckles lightly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “There’s a lot of things I could say while I’m up here, I guess, but, uh, I’m not the best at public speaking, and I’m definitely nowhere near as eloquent as the President, so I’m actually not giving a speech. Not a long one, anyway. There’s… really just one thing I need to say.”

He straightens up a bit, and maybe everyone thinks we’re about to have another moment of silence, because that same eerie stillness falls over the room. However, I see a glint of excitement in Taylor’s eye as he begins to speak again.

“As you all know, I didn’t get off that moon all by myself. I had help from someone. Someone who is here, tonight. Someone to whom I owe everything.”

I inhale sharply. The crowd begins to hum with low murmurs, and I see a woman beside me, who had been ignoring my presence entirely up to this point, suddenly give me a double take.

“My life. My safety. The fact that I get to sleep in my own bed again, that I get to hug my mother again, that I get to eat people food again…”

A few in the crowd chuckle. I gulp and cross my arms tightly, trying to stop the nervous shaking in my hands.

“…all these things that I thought were gone forever. It’s all possible again. Thanks to this person. Thanks to…”

And suddenly, our eyes meet, as if he knew exactly where I had been standing this entire time.

“… _you_ ,” he says, now beaming at me. I don’t know what my face looks like, but I imagine it’s a sight to see, because there’s a hint of laughter in his eyes as he steps around the podium and towards the edge of the stage.

Everyone around and in front of me seems to take a step away at the same time. I’m vaguely aware of their murmurs growing louder.

Is this really happening?

Taylor lowers himself off the stage and sprints towards the crowd. The people standing between us move out of the way, making a clear path leading straight to me.

Yeah, this is happening.

I laugh around the lump in my throat and unfold my arms just in time to grab onto Taylor’s shoulders as he embraces me. I feel my feet leave the ground, and then we’re spinning and laughing and clinging to each other like it’s the only thing keeping us from falling apart.

I don’t know where the crowd goes, but they’re not here, not in this moment. As soon as my feet tough the ground again, I take a tiny step back—and just that little bit of distance makes my heart ache in a strange way, but I push the feeling aside—so that I can look at his face, committing every detail of this moment to memory as much as I can. I’m probably staring too much, but Taylor doesn’t seem to mind, appearing to be just as transfixed as I am. He brushes a hand against my cheek, catching the tears there.

“Hey,” he says.

I can’t stop the giggle that accompanies my response. “Hi, nerd.”

His attempt at looking scandalized is ruined by the smile on his face. As I laugh again, I notice how heavy my eyelids are becoming. I must have been running on nervous energy this whole time. Now that Taylor is here, I’m more relaxed than I’ve felt in weeks.

Taylor leans in, pressing his forehead to mine. “You look tired,” he whispers gently. I take a deep breath, willing myself to be more alert.

“’M fine. I’m really happy you’re here,” I say. From my close-up perspective, I can just see the corners of Taylor’s eyes crinkle as his smile grows wider.

We stand like that for a long time, until my eyes start to drift shut against my will. Taylor suddenly pulls back, presses a kiss to my forehead, and then places his chin on the top of my head as he tugs me in for another hug.

Which, by the way, serves as a _great_ wake-up call. I bury my face in his shoulder, trying to hide the blush that’s currently burning my cheeks.

And if I’m also hiding the fact that I can’t stop smiling, well, no one has to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may take a while for me to write it, but there will be a chapter 3! Stay tuned :)


	3. with you is the only honest way to go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... been a while, amiright?
> 
> Guys, I am incredibly sorry for how long this took. Even though I've technically kept my promise of having it out in August, I really meant to have it out by, like, the 8th. Obviously, that didn't happen. I especially apologize to the people who follow/check up on me on tumblr, where I was assuring everyone that "it'll be out this weekend!!" literally every single weekend this month and not actually keeping that promise until now, the last weekend of August. I didn't mean to be a tease, but my muse apparently decided to take an extended vacation this summer.
> 
> And SPEAKING of summer vacations, you guys will never guess what happened! (Unless you follow me on tumblr... cough cough my blog is acenewtongeiszler dot tumblr dot com cough) So even though this fic is set in Washington, D.C., I'd never actually been to D.C., nor had I any intention of going, when I started writing it. And yet, this past summer, I got an internship through a D.C.-based program and actually spent 10 weeks there! I'm a lot more familiar with the geography of the area now, so I got a bit more specific with the street names and such in this chapter. (I cannot, however, guarantee the existence of any cafes/bars/stores/etc. on U Street that are mentioned here. Those are made up. I only went to U Street once, so I don't actually know what is and isn't there; I just know it's a popular night spot.)
> 
> Anyway, I've rambled enough. On with the show!
> 
> (Chapter title is from "Run" by Vampire Weekend, which is actually kind of a perfect theme song for this chapter)

“…not met before now?...”

“…thought they would have, but I don’t know…”

“Who cares! Oh my God, get the camera, this is _golden_ …”

Ah, reality, you sure can be a bitch sometimes.

As I pull away from the hug, I’m suddenly acutely aware of the fact that we’re still at the event, surrounded by America’s elite and way too many nosy reporters with camera phones.

 _Goodbye, peaceful life_ , I muse briefly, but it only takes one look at Taylor’s face to wash the thought away.

Peaceful lives are overrated. I’d take this life over a peaceful one any day.

However, some of my discomfort must still show in my expression, because Taylor frowns at the people pulling out their cameras. “Sorry, it seems this part is inevitable,” he murmurs to me, draping an arm over my shoulders and pasting on a crowd-pleasing smile as the clicks and flashes begin.

We stand still and smile for a few shots, but all the while, I scan the crowd for an exit. Not that I think there’s really much chance of getting away at this point, but it never hurts to check. After a bit of searching, I notice that the doors leading out of the room and into the main lobby of the building are completely unblocked, as everyone is apparently preoccupied with surrounding us in the middle of the room.

“Hey, Taylor,” I whisper, my tone light and joking, and he leans closer to listen. “Door’s unguarded. Think we could make a break for it?”

I grin up at him, expecting him to chuckle or smile in response, but he isn’t looking at me. Instead, he stares right over my head, his eyes now focused on the distant doorway.

“Mr. Young,” someone from the crowd says, and a reporter shoves a microphone towards Taylor, who flinches away in surprise. “Sir, do you have any comment on—”

Two things happen in that very moment. First, Taylor’s hand drops to grab mine in a viselike grip. Second, his lips are suddenly at my ear, and he whispers urgently, “Whatever you do, don’t let go.”

I don’t even have time to ask him what he means before he’s pulling me away from the reporter and straight through the crowd of people, all of whom move out of the way on instinct.

I yelp in surprise as he breaks into a sprint, all but dragging me along with him. Before long, we’re pushing through the door of the meeting hall, bolting through the lobby, and stumbling out into the street. He stops briefly on the sidewalk, and I bump into his shoulder, causing him to whirl around and steady me before I tumble to the ground.

“What—” I begin, but he exclaims, “This way!” and takes off again before I can form a complete thought. We run down the sidewalk about half a block and take a right across the road despite the absence of a crosswalk, which triggers a cacophony of car horns in our wake.

Resigning myself to my fate of being lead to who-knows-where by a jaywalking astronaut, I simply try to keep up as we alternate between walking, jogging, and running for the next several minutes, taking lefts then rights then lefts again with no discernible destination in our future. Finally, we stop short of a four-way intersection on a street lined with illuminated buildings and plenty of passersby. The people around us barely spare us a glance, and soon enough I realize why; the vast majority of them are drunk, or at least tipsy, and are otherwise preoccupied by their dates and friends and the sound of music spilling from several of the buildings.

“Where…” I trail off, too out of breath to form a complete sentence. Taylor responds anyway.

“It’s U Street!” He grins at me, looking not even half as worn out as I feel. Glancing at his watch, he continues, “It’s ten o’clock on a Friday night, so everyone here will be too drunk to recognize us.”

I nod, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “That’s… good.”

We start down the street, weaving through crowds of people talking and laughing loudly, their voices carrying through the muggy night air. The ever-present humidity is less restrictive than it was when I first arrived in the city, feeling more like a warm jacket draped over my shoulders than a heavy, damp blanket wrapped around my body.

Still, my fancy clothes are pretty much ruined by sweat, thanks to all the frantic dashing across the city. I nudge Taylor with my shoulder and say, “You could’ve been a little clearer about your plan _before_ we started running, you know.”

He grins again, this time with a more mischievous edge to it. “What, and alert all the press hounds? They’d be swarming the streets before we even got out of the building.”

The most bizarre thing is, that’s barely even an exaggeration. I laugh, my voice joining the drunken peals of laughter drifting from a nearby bar. “This is too weird. We’re literally front page news. How did this happen?”

Taylor’s smile softens into something more vulnerable. “Well, as I remember it, I was a kid stranded in space and you were a badass with the know-how that got me home.” He glanced at me, his expression open and honest. “I know the circumstances weren’t exactly preferable, but… I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad we met.” He furrows his brow in thought. “Which, I guess, in a twisted sort of way, means I’m glad I got stranded in the first place.”

We’re stopped in the middle of the sidewalk now, having at some point halted our slow meander through the crowd to face each other. I spend a moment just taking in the sight of him, reminding myself that this is _real_ , that he’s _really_ here, saying these words. It’s surprisingly easy to forget, even in light of the fact that we only “officially” met less than an hour ago, that we aren’t just two good friends strolling the streets of D.C. together. Taylor is as easy to talk to and walk with as he was to tease and joke around with over text in the weeks leading up to this, so there’s none of the awkwardness that usually exists between new friends. I feel more at ease now than I have been in several months, possibly even years.

I wonder if Taylor feels the same way. Going by the unguarded expression on his face, I’d like to think that he does.

I’m about to respond to his statement when an unexpected yawn steals my voice away for a moment. “Damn, where’d that come from,” I murmur, even though I know full well it’s due to my insomnia last night. I’m suddenly wishing I’d taken advantage of the free coffee back at the event, because now Taylor’s expression is being overshadowed by guilt.

“Shit, I didn’t think, I’m sorry,” he says. “You were so tired back there, and then I dragged you all over town… geez, I’m such a jerk, really, I just wasn’t thinking—”

I cut him off with a hand on his shoulder and a chuckle. “Taylor, it’s fine, I’m okay. I’m glad we met, too, no matter the circumstances. I mean, they could’ve been better, obviously, but…” I shake my head, resisting the urge to carry on with the tangent. “What I mean is, I’m _so_ glad to be here with you, to see you safe and alive. This means more to me than anything, and… I don’t want to sleep, not if it means missing time I could be spending with you.”

Well. That’s a _bit_ more than I was planning to admit, but the words were hard to stop once they started. Thankfully, they have their intended effect, and Taylor looks less guilty than before. He even appears to be blushing a bit. _Oh, how the tables have turned._ “Really?”

“Yes,” I say earnestly. We hold each other’s gaze for a while, until I can’t resist the urge that’s been building up inside my chest for a while now.

I lean in and wrap him in a hug, both similar to and completely unlike the one we shared at the event. He reciprocates, putting his arms around me and holding on tight. We stand like that for a while, swaying slightly as people brush by us.

It’s only when my eyes start to drift closed that I pull away, because while falling asleep in Taylor’s arms actually sounds really nice (and, wow, there’s a thought to lock away and never ever let out in the presence of Taylor, _ever_ ), I meant what I said about not wanting to sleep. “Let’s go in there,” I say, pointing down the street at a brightly-lit café nestled between a closed clothing store and a hookah bar. “I could use some coffee.”

Taylor still looks a bit hesitant, but I grab his hand and start to tug him towards it so that he can’t protest. “Just one cup!” I assure him over my shoulder, and he laughs and lets himself be pulled into the café.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one cup, hmm? We'll see about that ;)


End file.
